I don’t walk over high bridges.
I avoid 5th floors and won’t go
anywhere near a cliff face.
Fast cars or busy highways
I don’t do.
When I fly, I pray hard
each take off and landing.
I cross the street when
passing by a property with
a guard dog.
I don’t read
19th century romantics.
On the boat,
I need to see the shore or
I won’t
take it any further.
I keep my suicide notes updated
and at the ready
in multiple pockets and desks.
I bite my nails to the quick
to their bitter end.
Hospitals, I’m allergic to them.
I’ve needed surgery for 20 years now.
Don’t ask me about dentists.
People think I’m
built like a rock but inside
I’m a frail piece of
soggy cardboard.
Each morning when I wake up
I’m amazed I’m still here.
Some people call me fragile.
I’m ok with that.
It’s how I keep it together.